King of the School
by noxofsoul
Summary: Highschool AU. People don't change. Magic belongs in fairytales. Not everyone can be saved. "Marco?" I whispered, voice rough from screaming. I suppressed a shudder as a ghost of the clammy hands on my waist brushes against my subconscious. "I can't believe I saying this, to you of all people.." I pause, tasting my next words before saying them. "Thank you."
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Star vs the Forces of Evil

First of all, I want to thank everyone who reviewed and read my oneshot! I loved reading all your comments and questions…thank you for existing all you wonderful people. To answer the question most repeated, no, unfortunately I don't plan on continuing it. I was just an onesot. Although, I left it open ended in case I get bored and decide to make it into a story. I plan on uploading some more oneshots soon, although I don't know when. Once again, THANK YOU, and HERE is my most recent product of my imagination. Enjoy.

It was Friday, finally.

The atmosphere around school was charged, excited for the weekend festivities. It left most students in a good mood, small smiles plastered to their faces. I was no exception to the contagious buzz, a rare, shadowy smile on my face as I sat hunched over my work. It was second lunch, signifying that I was halfway through my daily hell, and I let out a content sigh against the sound of Green Day blaring from my phone ear buds.

Almost there.

The sketch I was working on was nearly complete, a profile of a strange, grey bird with loose fitting clothes on his body. His beak was curled up in a cruel smile, looking down in evil triumph.

I finish the rest of his feathers in a few long strokes of my pencil.

The sound of a chair scraping the cement floor makes me look up, the small smile disappearing.

No one sits at my table.

I glance up, ready to piece together a string of insults.

But once I caught sight of his messy hair and hoodie, it broke my train of thought. I grit my teeth.

Of course, my subconscious growls, it's him.

Before my eyes sits Marco Diaz, the most popular kid in school, lounging in my chair across my table like some hot-shot. I glare at him and his cocky demeanor, jamming my ear-buds further up my ear canals and going back to my bird. My long hair swings in front of my face, creating a barrier between me and my unwelcome visitor. Maybe if I ignore him long enough, he'll go away.

My pencil scratches furiously across the paper, letting off a not-so-subtle 'go away' vibe. It's bad enough I have to share a roof with him 8 hours of my everyday life, if he could just leave me alone life would be so much better. After a few minutes of this, I hear the chair slowly scoot back. I wait a few seconds before I declare it safe, and peek up from my bird.

Empty; he gave up today.

A grin tugs on my mouth, but I pushed it away before it could escape and let out a relieved sigh instead. I was about to go back to my work, but a small noise to the left of my made me turn. It was Marco, a full grin on his face as he slumps in the chair next to me.

I wanted to scream.

See, Marco is the school's bad boy. He can go anywhere, do anything, and date any girl of his choosing. In a way, he is the supreme king of the school, and the rest of us are his stepping stones. All he cares about is himself, and it's infuriating.

But the most annoying thing about him is he won't leave me alone.

"Why hello princess," he purrs, eyes narrowed suggestively. I turn up the volume on my phone.

He scoots the chair closer to me, putting his elbow on the table and resting his head on his hand.

"Nice weather we have today." He continues to annoy me, tapping my ear-buds when I wouldn't respond.

"What're you listening to?"

I could hear his suave voice through the music.

I take deep, calming breaths. No need to have a murder on my record.

Abruptly, he stole one of my ear-buds, jamming it in his ear and grinning.

"Green Day! Man I love this one."

Growling, I yank on the cord and snatch back my ear-bud. I jam the bud back in my ear, crossing my arms.

After a few songs, I hesitantly take out one ear-bud.

"You like Green Day?" I stiffly ask.

He grins, shooting me a sly wink. "Kind of the best band ever."

I mull that over, taking a few seconds to respond.

"What's your favorite song?" I challenge.

"American Idiot," he shoots back, smug.

He runs a hand through his hair, messing up his already messy do and smirking when it fell just right.

I scowl.

See, this is what I mean. With his mused chocolate hair, matching eyes, and strong jaw, Marco Diaz is easily the best looking guy here. Add his semi-athletic build and messy attire, he has every girl in a 10 mile radius melting into a pile of goo with so much of a glance from him. I wouldn't care if he didn't use it (no one can help the way they look, pretty or not), but not only does he use it, he enjoys using it.

I cross my arms and jerk my head away, glaring without really seeing anything.

It wouldn't be so bad if his looks didn't affect me, then it would be easier to ignore him. Then he would eventually go away and I'd be able to slip back into my comfortable routine of ignoring everyone and getting through high school with the least amount of damage possible. But every time he does something unexpected, gets too close or says something that hits a little too close to home, I can't help the fluttery explosion that takes root in the pit of my stomach. The only thing that keeps me sane is the thought that every girl he tries his moves on probably feels exactly like this, and I'd be damned if I end up as the newest link on the end of a long chain of broken hearts.

I turn up the volume on my phone, inexplicably angry at the direction my thoughts had gone. I sit there, stewing for a few seconds before Marco made himself known again.

A hand waves in front of my face and on impulse I smack it away, turning back to Marco.

"Will you quit it," I hiss, re-crossing my arms over my chest.

Marco seemed unconcerned at the look I was giving him, his stance still relaxed in the plastic chair he was sitting in.

He shrugs, increasing my annoyance with him to dangerous levels.

Because a hospital visit would be bad, I avoid my eyes, looking instead at a whispering table of girls. A tall blonde in pink meets my eyes on accident, and she frowns, eyes flickering from me to Marco.

I look away, a little sick.

"Look," I snap, pinching my fingers together and shoving them close to his face.

"I'm this close to screaming and flipping your ass all over the place."

I shoot him my deadliest glare and wait for the message to sink in.

But instead of reflecting fear, his eyes glint mischievously, catching the light as he opened his mouth to speak.

"Ha, that's funny, because that's what she said."

I don't speak for a few heartbeats, feeling the anger build until I'm shaking.

I need to leave.

I stand, the chair scraping angrily against the cement.

"Fine!" I spit out, snatching my pencil and sketchbook from the table. My long hair swings in front of my face as I push past Marco, leaving my untouched tray on the table. I had almost reached the steps leading out of the lunchroom when a hand caught my arm, sharply tugging me to face the perpetrator.

"I'm sorry."

His eyes are wide, rapidly darting across my face.

My heart skips a beat when I realize he was being sincere.

But before my mind could catch up with my body, my hands were ripping themselves from his grip and shoving against his chest. I probably couldn't have moved him just by pushing him, but he took a step back anyway, expression unreadable. My earlier anger bubbled to the surface. I shove him again.

"Wha-" He starts.

"You know what your problem is?!" I growl, voice low and dangerous.

The part of me that was in control vaguely wondered what I was doing.

I could see the confusion flash across his face as I shoved him again, advancing.

"You're just a conceited little pretty boy who has everything handed to him on a platter. All you care about is yourself! I'm tired of you following me around like a lost puppy; GET A LIFE AND LEAVE MINE ALONE!"

Throughout my rant my voice had risen to a shout, echoing throughout the lunch room. I sharply turn back to the stairs, breathing heavily. I hear someone whisper my name, and automatically I look in the direction it came from.

The table from earlier are staring at me, whispering in hushed voices. The blonde from earlier lets out a hushed giggle before she sees me. Her face morphs into malicious grin.

Ice fills my veins as I silently let my eyes dart from table to table.

Out of the 150 eyes in this lunchroom, every pair of them are trained on me.

Tears sting my eyes as my heart seizes, stuttering and choking inside my chest.

A hand lands on my shoulder and I flinch, recoiling.

"LEAVE ME ALONE," I shriek, my brain registering a flash of Marco's hurt expression before I'm sprinting up the lunchroom steps, disappearing around the corner.

I think I hear a mumbled "whatever" before I'm officially out of the lunch room, sprinting down hallway after hallway.


	2. Chapter 2

I hit 4th period with as much vigor as it hit me. News of my little fit had spread fast, so it didn't surprise me when thirty pairs of eyes glanced at me as I walked into English. I quickly moved to the back of the room and plopped down in a desk, pulling my sketch book out to hide my face as the teacher called the class's attention.  
I hear my name whispered every once in a while from the front.

Usually I liked English, enough that I would brave the middle row of desks to hear- but not today. "Definitely not today," I grumble to myself, flipping my book open to a clean page with every intention of drawing the strange giraffe man I had dreamt up earlier.  
Hoping to get my mind off of my recent catastrophe, I attack the paper with my pencil. Starting with the slope of his forehead, I make long strokes with my pencil as I connected a jaw to the face.

I wait for the feeling to wash away as it always does when I draw, but a low buzz of annoyance continues through my system. Eventually I give in to the emotion, letting my hands fly across the page as I tune the world out.

My mind starts to wander, latching onto the teacher's voice as she explains the difference between active and passive voice. She calls on a kid named Marcus and suddenly my thoughts take a different direction.

What's with him?

My rapid scribbles become a comforting background noise.

He's just so... so...

I struggle for the right word for a few seconds.

...irritating.

I sigh, letting the anger wash out of my system. My hand stills, and I sit there for a while, staring off into space.

Eventually I glance down at my picture.

I inhale sharply, cautiously touching the paper.

It wasn't a giraffe man, it was a portrait of the very person that was consuming my thoughts.

I scoff out loud, a little put-out with myself for allowing this to subconsciously happen.

My finger continues skim around the page, the smooth paper cold to the touch.

I continue to look at the picture, my stomach churning uneasily.

I was Marco...but then again it wasn't.

I trace my finger around the page, trying to figure out what was wrong with the picture.

I let out a low hum, scrutinizing the picture.

My finger traces up his penciled jaw and lazily rests on his left eye.

That's it!

The eyes.

In the drawing his eyes are wild and fierce, desperate but haunted.

Suddenly my mind flashes to a picture in my social studies textbook of a man who had just come out of battle.

But there was something else, something about his eyes that was protective and unguarded. His expression was that of one who had just been relieved of a heavy burden, and would to anything to keep it from being put on again. They were openly desperate and devastating, absolutely nothing like his _real_ expressions.

I stare at the strange product of my subconsciousness a little while longer, jumping when the shrill sound of the bell announces the end of 4th period. I snap back into action as people around me leave the class in a flurry of motion, conversations bubbling and crossing over each other.  
I grab my worn yellow backpack from the floor, shoving my pencils into an open pocket.  
I hesitate over the picture, my earlier sense of unease snaking up my spine.  
"It's just a stupid picture," I mumble to myself, and flip the cover closed.

I walk out of fourth period without a second glance to my sketchbook.

"Hey blondie!" A male voice calls.

Brown and lifeless leaves crunch beneath my feet with every step I take. The October air was crisp and dry, blowing my hair behind me as I walked. I exhaled slowly, trying to ignore the irritating voice from behind.

School had passed uneventfully, for the most part. Marco, thankfully, had enough sense to leave me alone for the rest of the day. A shiver goes up my spine as the breeze picks up, limply stirring the leaves littering the sidewalk.

That's right, I had forgotten that the forecast for the weekend was to be chilly.

Silently, I take a little satisfaction in the thought of all the people in ridicules costumes shivering on their way to the dance tomorrow. Like a harvest moon was any reason to dress as idiots.

"Blondie! Come on, honey."

My purple rain boots scuff the sidewalk with every small step, making a high, winey sound.

Supposedly, there is to be a harvest moon at midnight tomorrow, the perfect atmosphere for a spooky Halloween party. But really, its stupid. Halloween isn't for another two weeks and they're already throwing the party.

Absentmindedly I pull on my sleeve, trying to cover more skin.

It really was cold out.

"Gotcha."

Someone yanks on my backpack, snapping me backwards. I gasp, my arms failing in front of me before I'm caught in a tight embrace from behind. The person is tall, with a freakishly tight grip on my waist. I can feel his breath hit my shoulder as my heart pounds and I struggle to swallow.

"Why didn't you wait for me baby?" He mumbles, grip tightening around me.

I'm still as stone, the lead in my veins rendering me immobile as the stranger plants a kiss on my shoulder, trailing up my neck. His breath is sickingly hot against my skin.

My hands clench as he sighs against my skin, snapping me out of my trance. I slam my boot down on his foot, twisting and pushing from his arms as they slacken with surprise. He let out a hiss as I spun away, putting me a safe distance from him.

The ice in my veins pulses through my body, my breath coming out shallow as my eyes wildly dart around the strangers body, finally recognizing him.

He was tall and wiry, wearing loose skinny jeans and a leather jacket. A bright green scarf was tied around his neck like a choker, matching the eyes that peered at her through a tangle of black hair. Oskar straightens up, smiling at me in a way that didn't match the look in his eyes.

"Hey come here, sorry I scared you."

His eyes looked too eager to be sincere.

"I promise I wont hurt you."

I tensed, preparing myself to run. Air thick, I finger the straps of my backpack as my heart marked the slow, tensed seconds pulsing between us. I wondered if my pack would slow me down as I ran.

Oskar took a step closer and I lurched in the other direction, preparing for my feet to fly across the concrete.

But before I took a step, I hesitated at the sight of four other men rounding the corner, coming close enough to see the situation I was in. _People_. I sagged with relief, trembling hands numbly removing themselves from my backpack straps. Oskar won't do anything when there's witnesses around. I jog away from Oskar and towards the group, breathlessly calling out as I ran.

"Someone call 911!" I stopped a few feet away from them on instinct, pulling out my own battered phone from my pocket. I wait for someone in the group to do the same, but they just stare at me blankly, unmoving. Finally, the tallest in the group noticed Oskar, and before I could ask what he was doing, he walked to Oskar's side.

My blood turned cold as he greeted Oskar like an old friend, looking towards me with comprehension dawning on his tanned face.

"Oskar, you rascal!" His voice was deeper than I expected as he ruffled Oskar's long hair, earning a glare from him. "Trying to one up me?"

Oskar growled, pushing the bigger one off. "No," he snapped, shaking the hair out of his eyes, "and I'm not sharing, not this time."

My breath came out uneven and loud, the wind stinging my skin. My fingers slid across the smooth surface of the phone as I watched the small exchange in horror.

The taller one gave an obviously fake laugh, his voice melting with the wind. "We've all shared ours, Oskar my boy. I don't think it would be very fair if you didn't pay your do's."

He nodded towards the three other guys still a few feet away, who immediately started nodding their heads in agreement. Oskar's eyes flashed with defiance as he looked at the taller, tan one, but he gave a tense laugh in response. "Yeah, I know the rules. But I was going to catch this one on my own, before you butted in."

I started slowly backing up, hands slick with sweat. Each step sounded loud to my ears, any second they could look back. If I could just get a good enough head-start, maybe I could out run them.

"Well we're here now, aren't we? And besides, you can't keep a scrumptious snack like this one all to yourself."

I take quicker, quiet steps backward. I keep my eye on the group of three for signs of them noticing, but they seemed to be engrossed in the almost-fight between Oskar and their obvious leader and do not glance my way.

Oskar snarls at the leader, earning an threatening eyebrow raise in response.

"Just because you're in charge and can fuck whoever you want doesn't mean I-"

The tall one cuts him off, eyeing Oskar menacingly.

"Watch your mouth." He barks before composing himself, glancing to me and freezing me in my tracks.

"That's no way to talk in front of a lady."

All five's attention is suddenly on me, and my heart crawls up my throat at the hunger in each man's eyes.

I bolted.

My feet slapped the hard pavement in nervous bursts as my breathing came out uneven and forced. The panic overwhelming my system made my hands clumsy and slick as I tried to unlock my phone, each jarring impact making me push the wrong buttons on the keypad.

Just as I had opened the dial screen and punched in the correct numbers, something hit me from behind, slamming me to the concreate. With a rush of wind my head hits the ground, stars flashing behind my eyes as the momentum carries me forward a few inches. The concrete was cold beneath my stinging cheek as I struggled to breathe. From my tilted ground view I watch my phone skid out of reach, the screen still glowing and waiting for me to press call.

Suddenly I was surrounded, hands ripping my pack from my back and pressing my arms into the ground. I screamed as they yanked my hair in one direction, feeling parts tear free from my scalp. I blindly kick at my attackers, throwing punches that were useless. I desperately heave against the ground, trying to find purchase so that I could stand. With a jerky, desperate push, I manage to get high enough that I could heave my face up to see the crazed expressions of my attackers before one slams their knee between my shoulder blades, effectively pinning me back to the ground. My body lets out guttural cries as survival mode kicks in, my struggles becoming more and more desperate.

The one on my back leans over me, close enough to whisper in my ear. I recognize Oskar's slimy voice, his rancid breath blowing in my ear. "You're mine, bitch."

A surge of rage warms my limbs and my hand breaks free, fist sailing towards his voice. My hand meets flesh and I hear a crunch, warm drops of liquid peppering my back. The weight on my back disappears with a hiss. The rage still in my limbs, I heave myself up against the pressing hands, managing to get my legs under me to stand. I throw punches freely now, catching a few in the face before I was once again seized.

"YOU WANT A PIECE OF ME?!" I was only vaguely aware of what I was saying, too drunk on rage and fear to be coherent.

"BASTARDS, I COULD TAKE YOU ALL!" I was screaming, fighting against the hands. My hair was a tangled veil around my face, falling into my open mouth and eyes.

"LET ME GO," I bellowed, kicking and squirming. Two now had my arms pinned, grinning as my kicks harmlessly sailed through the air. I struggled violently for a while longer before I realized all it was doing was wasting energy, and quieted. Oskar and two other men stood before me in a cluster, breathing lightly. I recognize the taller leader of the group standing next to Oskar, looking at me coolly, reassessing my character. I snarl, flashing my white teeth.

"You can have her."

The words were flat and ungenerous, as if he were dusting his hands of something potentially poisonous. My gaze shifts to Oskar, who had nodded in response. His face was smeared with blood. I realized with pride that Oskar's nose was crooked, obviously broken. The thin stream of blood trickling down his face fresh and oozing crimson streaks dripping into his open mouth. Oskar glared at me, hand cupping his nose and green eyes flashing with contempt. He lowered his bloody hand from his nose, stepping close enough that I could once again feel the hot plumes of his breath hitting my face. His green eyes looked evil in the shadow of his dark bangs as he gripped the shoulder of my sleeve, fist trembling with anger.

"By the time I'm done with you, you're going to wish you'd never been born." He spit, tearing the sleeve at it's seam and ripping it completely off. The wind stung my exposed shoulder, my angry breaths coming shallow and fast. His eyes asses my expression, very clearly pondering if he could still get any fun out of me. Abruptly, he presses his chapped and bloody lips against my mouth, roughly kissing me before I could do anything to stop him. My protests were muffled and unimpressive as my head tries to duck away. His hands roughly roam my body, pulling on my dress as tears pricked my open eyes. I bite his lip, feeling my teeth sink through flesh before he yanks away from me, snarling.

"You little bitch!" The words are thick and slurred.

His blow came fast and hard across my face, my neck cracking from the sudden movement.

"HEY! GET AWAY FROM HER!"

I could barley breathe as I raised my head, seeing a figure run towards me. It was far, too far away to make out who it was. I started yelling again, struggling against the hands that had me pinned as Oskar quickly looked towards the sound.

"Hel-" I try to yell as Oskar turns, a thick hand firmly appearing and covering my mouth. I struggle against the arms, shoulder blades chafing painfully as they twisted my arms behind my back. Tears once again pricked my open eyes.

Oskar growled to himself, cussing before barking orders to the others.

"Grab the girl and go!"

The two who had me pinned roughly yank me to the left, where I could now see a dark ally created tunnel to another street. They start running, and I struggle against their arms, digging my feet into the street.

When they didn't make it very far, one of the two roughly scooped me into their arms and started sprinting.

The wind pushed my hair into my eyes, obscuring my vision as I struggled to break free. Finally, my arm broke free and shot at my captor's face, snapping his face backwards. He dropped me, knocking the wind out of my lungs as my bum jarringly landed on the concrete. Tingles shoot through my bones, pain stealing my breath. I stayed on the ground, dazed.

"You idiots!" I hear Oskar yell in the background, and suddenly I knew he was coming back for me.

I force my eyes to open, and I scrambled to get on my feet. I didn't get very far before the sound of shoes scuffing the pavement force me to glance to my right, where I saw to my horror that Oskar had already stopped a few feet from me.

I stopped trying to stand. It was over. So close to rescue and it was over.

I numbly wait for Oskar to yank me to my feet and drag me away.

When seconds had passed and Oskar hadn't moved, I was forced to look at him for detail.

He was standing motionless, expression unreadable and looking behind me. Numbly, I turned in the direction he was looking.

My heart jolted when I realized there was another male equally far away from me, tense and staring across me at Oskar. On instinct I started to edge away from the new boy, cringing before my brain started interpreting the details my eyes were providing. I stopped, the color red flaring before my eyes. I raise my gaze from the hoodie, to the face that I knew it must belong to. Chocolate hair, Latino complexion, and matching eyes gazed furiously at Oskar. Marco had saved me.

"Leave while you can." Marco hissed through clenched teeth. His brown eyes were livid, the barley contained rage moving dangerously beneath the surface. Oskar backs up, hesitating before darting toward me and latching onto my arm. Moving faster than I thought was possible, Marco slams his hand against Oskar's arm and Oskar's grip breaks, a surprised hiss coming from his mouth. He staggers backwards, clutching his arm and glaring at Marco.

Marco growls, nimbly slamming his foot in Oskar's face, and sending him staggering backwards. Fresh blood spurts from Oskar's nose, dripping down his chin. Oskar's green eyes flash towards mine a final time, possessive and angry. Something passes between us, the air thick as a chill goes up my spine. Whatever this was, it wasn't over.

Oskar turned and fled, raven hair bouncing with each step. He runs through the ally and takes a left, moving out of view.

I watch him disappear with a cold feeling in my chest.


	3. Chapter 3

"If I ever see their faces again I'll beat the living shit out of them!" Marco 's brown eyes are wide, livid.

"I'll-I'll fucking kill them!" He growls, taking a step forward and staring at the spot Oskar disappeared.

I counted twenty seconds before I could stand to get up. Shaking, I stand and take a deep breath.

"Marco." I say hoarsely, watching his fists clench and unclench. He ignores me, continuing to look off into the distance.

"Marco." I say louder, with more solidity. I reach out and touch his arm, flinching when he moves. He starts pacing, running his fingers through his hair.

"Oh my god," He moans, pulling at his hair.

"They- they were-," He passed me, expression pained.

"You almost-," He stopped, whirling towards me. He took my arm with gentle hands, searching for injuries. I gasped when he touched a tender spot, yanking my arm away.

"Are you okay?" He demanded, tenderly touching my face and searching my eyes.

"No, stupid question," He backtracked, "Are you hurt?"

I pull my face away, overwhelmed.

"I-," My voice cracks.

I close my eyes.

He doesn't speak, waiting.

My shallow breaths are too fast, matching the drumming of my heart. I focus on slowing them, taking deep, even breaths. I focus on the motion.

In, out.

In, out.

When finally I was calm, I focused instead of taking inventory. Slowly I rolled my neck, and then my shoulders, wincing when I moved too fast. My cheek smarted, and when I reached up to touch it, my fingers came back bloody. Besides being a little sore, I was alright. I was fine.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. I gave a breathless chuckle.

I was fine.

I open my eyes, unable to stop the laughter that bubbled out of me more forcefully.

I was fine.

Suddenly this whole situation seemed hilarious and I laughed harder, unable to stop the spasms.

Soon I was kneeling, lungs burning and tears streaming down my burning cheeks as I cackled into the open air. I don't know how long I sat there, laughing, before a light hand landed on my back. I jerked away mid laugh, letting out a strangled gasp before realizing what a stupid reaction it was to a simple gesture.

The silence makes me uneasy as I avoided looking at Marco, cheeks hot. Quickly, I wipe the tears off my face and rub my nose with my left sleeve (the non-ripped one). My heart pounded in my chest, not racing like before, but reluctantly now. I felt drained, emotionally numb and tired. The wind blew my hair back as I stood and dusted myself off. My fingers patted down the thin fabric of my favorite dress, pausing when they found a big rip at the bottom. I studied my black dress closer now, swallowing the lump that unexpectedly rose in my throat at the sight of the frayed hole near the bottom of my thighs. I reach up to touch the ripped sleeve near my shoulder, remembering when I had sewn the striped sleeves on the dress a few years ago. I drop my hand. There's no way to fix my dress.

Aware that I was being petty and materialistic, I shove the state of my dress to the back of my mind and wrap my arms around my chilled body. It was just a dress.

Finally, I allow my eyes to skirt in Marco's direction, noting the now guarded pain in his chocolate eyes. Why does he even care? I swallow the lump that once again rose in my throat, aware that he was still waiting for an answer. The gratitude I felt towards him was overflowing...but why would he save me when it meant danger for him? I have a flashback to the anger in his eyes upon finding me.

Before I could think too deeply into all of this, I shove the thoughts away.

 _Come on_ , I tell myself, _this is Marco we're talking about_. I put my hands in the front pockets of my dress, deciding that I wasn't going to answer his question after all.

I cough, awkwardly looking away when I found that Marco's eyes were still on me.

"I guess I better get home now." My voice was hoarse, like I had just smoked a pack of cigarettes. I clear my throat.

I can feel the embarrassment creep into my face as the silence stretched on.

"Um.." I wanted to thank him, but the words got caught in my throat. I ended up swallowing them and turning towards the sidewalk in silence.

My left leg burned and throbbed as I walked, my knee painfully supporting my the rest of my body. I forced myself not to limp even though each jarring step prickled painfully, hoping to preserve what little dignity I had left.

I had just reached the sidewalk when Marco jogged over.

"Where do you think you're going?" He demanded.

I prickle a little at the traces of possessiveness in his voice, annoyance creeping back into my system.

"I already told you." I noted with a little pride that my voice was firm behind the smoker filter.

"I'm going home."

He coughed out a short, humorless laugh, stepping in front of me.

"Not a chance," he latched on to my wrist, "I'm taking you to a hospital."

I gasped, trying to yank my arm away. I couldn't. His hands felt gentle on my skin, but trying to get away was like trying to cut steel with your finger. You just couldn't.

"I'm not going to a hospital," I hiss, letting my usual anger towards him slide into place. I tug on my new restrains. "Let me go."

"No," he said stubbornly, "you need medical attention."  
He starts pulling me in the opposite direction, back towards the city. I yank right back, digging my feet into the ground. I hear him give an agitated sigh before whirling towards me.  
"Fine, then you have to go to my house so I can patch you up."  
I glare at him, tugging once again against the grip on my wrist.  
"I don't have to go anywhere." My voice came out cold and stiff.

"It's either one or the other."

"I'm _fine_ , _"_ I insisted. Marco gave me the 'are-you-kidding-me' look, tightening his hold on my wrist.

A gust of stinging wind blew through the street. Goosebumps rose painfully on my arms, cold seeping through my body. I was definitely _not_ letting myself be dragged off to a hospital to wait for hours in a cold waiting room just to be told I was fine. Plus the walk was too long, and there's always that one receptionist who's a little too curious.

I definitely didn't want to answer any questions from a too-curious receptionist in a cold waiting room.

So that left throwing enough of a fit that Marco'd leave me alone, or admitting defeat and walking with him to his house.

Another long shiver goes up my spine, the wind snapping fiercely at my exposed skin.

Working up a fit would take an awfully long time..

I roll my eyes at the wind, annoyed that it was forcing my hand in decision making before sighing in defeat.

" _Fine_ ," I conclude frothily, rubbing my side with my one free hand. Marco let out a small laugh, chocolate eyes catching the light.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" He teased me, gently tugging my arm in the direction he was originally walking. This time I follow compliantly, walking besides him. The rhythmic thuds our feet made against the concrete filled the silence.

I continued to shiver as I walked, grateful for the motion warming my stinging muscles. A few steps later, a more violent shiver crawled down my spine.

Marco suddenly stopped, letting go of my wrist with a guarded expression and started unzipping his hoodie.

"Wha-" I began, already missing his warm hand. He interrupts me, hoodie now draped across one arm and holding up his hands cautiously, as if I were a crazed animal.

"Now, listen here. You are not allowed to yell or take this off once I put it on you. This isn't barbed wire I'm wrapping around your shoulders, its a jacket. Not a big deal. I don't want you coming down with pneumonia and that being on my conscious the rest of the week. Okay? Jacket, not a bomb vest."

Bewildered, I look at Marco in surprise, watching as he slowly approached me and set the warm jacket on my shoulders. Immediately I felt better, the chill chased away by the soft, worn cotton. It smelled faintly of nachos and leather, a combination that I was surprised to find that I liked. It smelled like home, worn and lovable in a strange imperfect way.

Marco was still standing a few feet away, obviously waiting me to peel the hoodie off and throw it or something. Internally I scoff, putting my arms through the big sleeves and wrapping the jacket more firmly around me. I'm not _that_ unreasonable.

Immediately the chill is fully chased away, the leather and nacho aroma soothing.

 _Much_ better

"Thank you," I tell him coolly, trying to ignore how warm my cheeks felt.

He nods just as calmly, expression unreadable as he starts walking again, hands in his jean pockets. I start walking too, the jacket hitting mid-thigh as I walked. I tried not to breathe in the jacket aroma too noticeably, but boy, did it smell good. We walked the rest of the way in silence, listening to the trees shake in the wind and the leaves scrape against the ground.

"They're around here somewhere.."

I was standing in the middle of Marco's kitchen, the chair Marco had told me to sit in a few feet away. Even from here, I could hear Marco's noisy search through his house for the first aid kit.

A loud crash comes from the other room, and Marco cursed.

I bite back a smile, fidgeting with sleeves of his jacket. I know I should probably take it off.. but it's comforting. I feel...safer with it on.

Immediately I frown, not liking the feel of that sentence. This is still Marco; arrogant, womanizer, and a total jerk to me and everyone he's ever known. I pull the jacket off with reluctant hands, placing the hoodie on the wood table in the center of the kitchen.

Another crash comes from the other room, followed by what suspiciously sounds like a kick against something hard.

"Son of a-"

I stifle another smile, my grin barley contained when Marco stalks into the kitchen a second later. He sets the kit on the table.

"Took you long enough." The edge I had been trying to ease into the sentence failed, and my voice came out teasing.

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbles, unlatching the plastic kit and opening it.

I watch him as he pulled out bandages and tubes full of clear gel and place them on the table, the light coming from the window behind me falling on his face. I studied his expression for a while as he worked, noting the graceful slope of his eyebrows and the (this time not intentionally) messy state of his hair. Pieces of hair flopped out in every direction, and in some parts, pieces were standing on end. He looked ridiculous.

...and just a little adorable, I had to tack on to the end of that thought. It was true anyway, this version of him was much better than the usual.

Ha, well it was a good thing he usually wasn't like this. I'd have a harder time keeping my priorities straight if this was him all the time. He's almost acting like an... an actual person.

The kitchen was silent and warm, the air between Marco and I comfortable even though my last thought made my stomach uneasy. I adverted my eyes when the feeling grew, falling to his clothes. It's funny, I've never seen him in anything but a hoodie and jeans.

He had on a snug, grey t-shirt and dark jeans, and unfortunately, he pulled off the look fantastically. It wasn't at all fair.

I huff, looking away before I got caught staring. I guess he had found what he had been looking for, because he looks up a second later, grabbing a roll of gaze and one of the clear tubes from earlier. I eye the supplies wearily as he approaches.

"Do you know what you're doing?" My voice cracked intentionally at the end. I flushed.

Marco smirks, chuckling. "Relax, I know enough."

He had walked really close to me by now, close enough that I could smell him and had to look up to see his face. My face goes red as I take a step back, the sink countertop to my back.

"Wha-" I was about to ask why the hell he was so close, but he was quicker, hands darting to my waist and setting me on the countertop in one fluid motion.

"What the-" I started to hiss, trying to get off the countertop.

"Hey, hey stop!" He blocked me with his hands, pushing me back. "It's easier to clean wounds with water. Jeeze Star, chill."

I hate how much I like the sound of my name on his lips.

I crossed my arms but stayed.

Marco turned on the faucet next to me and pulled out a clean wash cloth. He doused the cloth in the stream of water and carefully took my arm.

Quietly, he pulled up my sleeve. Red flashes before my eyes, the absence of my sleeve exposing bloody scrapes and smears all over my arm. My skin looked pale and lifeless next to the bright red.

Without my consent, my heart beat quickens as he gently dabs at the skin around the scrape, cleaning away excess blood. His motions were careful and deliberate, brown eyes tight, like he knew what he was doing.

Soon he was rinsing the scrapes under a cold stream of water and sticking bandages on them, smearing the cold gel from earlier on my raw skin.

I stare across the room as he worked, eyes drawn to a small plant in a colorful pot sitting in the window. Sunlight spilled across the green stem, leaves stretched towards the pane of glass. The green is vibrant, colorful. It makes my stomach churn as I connect it to someone else entirely.

Marco moved to my other side in silence, checking my other arm before rising the cloth in the sink. I wanted to speak, to fill this strange silence. I look down, swallowing thickly before a warm hand brushed under my chin and lifted my head to meet Marco's eyes. His chocolate eyes were relaxed as he raised the cold wash cloth to clean my injured cheek. It stung when the cloth fibers brushed against the raw skin, but I knew he was trying to be gentle.

"Why are you being like this?" I suddenly blurt out, cringing when he looked at me peculiarly.

"I mean," I backtracked, "normally you're..."

"Hitting on you?" He finished, holding back a smile.

I nod, cheeks hot.

"Well," he sighed, lowering the cloth and leaning closer enough I could smell the peppermint on his breath, "I could just as easily start again, if you'd like."

"No, no, no," I shake my head and push him away, glaring at him when he laughed.

"I like this you better," I said without thinking. Marco raised his eyebrows, and I flushed.

"Not that I like you at all.. I mean... I like you... wait, I mean I like you but only a little," I stammered, unlike myself.

Marco chuckled at my antics, patting my head. "It's okay blondie, I get it."

He kept his hand on my hair and slid down the side of my face, cupping the uninjured cheek gently.

"We're mortal enemies," he whispered, smiling a little. Speechless, I gazed at him in silence as he slowly moved his head closer to mine. I felt paralyzed as he continued to ease closer, heart beating in full gear as my body reacted to the electricity between us. Our noses, bumped, and our lips were only inches apart when a sudden sound came from the other room.

"Helloo? I'm hoooome!"

We wrenched our faces apart, mine burning. Horrified, I run my fingers through my hair as Marco retreated from the room.

"Mom," he complained from the other room.

What was I doing? My heart beat painfully in my chest, my body growing cold.

Was I really about to..

Marco returned, making me jump and successfully jolting me from my thoughts. I jumped from the counter, brushing myself off nervously and desperately looking around the room.

"I uh- um I got to go now."

I spotted my backpack on the table next to Marco's hoodie and made a grab for it.

My heart was beating wildly as I tried to put my backpack on unsuccessfully, fingers fumbling with the straps. A large hand reached from behind me and righted the straps. I looked behind me at Marco. He was frowning.

"At least let me walk you home-"

Before he could finish his sentence I was shaking my head, unable to imagine myself able to spend another minute with him without loosing my sanity.

"No, no that's fine." I began to walk out of the kitchen.

He grabbed my hand, lightly tugging me back. His grip was firm, warm against my chilled skin. But suddenly I didn't feel Marco's gentle touch, instead I felt Oskar's angry hands around my wrist, tugging me back. Panic made me lash out, jerking my arm away painfully as I cried out. I skirted a few feet away from Marco, breathing heavily. Tears pricked my eyes as green flashed before my eyes, ghost touches trailing up my side.

"Just- just stay there."

I was trembling, fear dripping thorough my system. Marco looked shocked, still frozen in the position he was in when he had took my hand.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. When I opened them, I was able to think clearly.

"Look-" my voice still shook when I spoke, so I started again.

"I appreciate what you're trying to do; some might even call it sweet, but you're wasting your time on the wrong girl. Just-just leave me alone, okay?"

The stutter at the end ruined the effect I was going for, making me sound weak. I lifted my chin, hoping I looked a lot stronger than I felt.

I let a few tense seconds pass before I left the room, trying not to cry. On my way out, I passed a soft, middle aged woman who looked at me in surprise as I passed. I fled out the front door as quickly as I could, feeling like the coward I was.

My room was quiet, the dark surrounding me like a blanket. I sat in the middle of my bed, cocooning myself in the many soft blankets around me. I was safe, I should feel safe.

I stare blankly in front of me, not really seeing anything. If I was completely honest with myself, my mind was still reeling from the events that started after school.

I tried not to think about it, pushing everything away.

My eyes focused on a yellow bundle at the foot of my bed, and I grabbed hold of the soft fabric. It was my backpack, worn and stuffed with school binders. I run my fingers over the yellow star I had lovingly stitched onto the pack last year before I unzipped it. Maybe algebra would distract me enough. But when I pulled open my backpack, I hesitated instead over my sketchbook, pulling my stiff book from the lumpy, yellow sac.

I switched on my bedside lamp, the light illuminating the room enough to see. I pulled open the book, flipping through past drawings. Multiple grotesque mashes of animals stare up at me, fangs dripping and flashing intelligently. They looked sinister in the dim lighting, and I suppressed a shiver as I flipped deeper. I was just beginning to realize how strange my drawings were when I came upon Marco's picture, still unnerved by the likeness between them.

I flip to a fresh page, feeling the familiar tingle of inspiration in my fingers. I grabbed a stray pencil from the small table near my lamp and get to work, relishing the feeling of my hands against the paper.

As I continued to scratch lines on the paper, features became more defined, silhouettes more distinguished. It was a man, hunched and holding an obviously female body. It almost looked like they were dancing, and the man had just dipped her and was pulling up from a tender kiss.

I wondered vaguely if I was right.

See, I know enough about art that usually things start with an idea of what the piece will turn out to be, and it goes from there. For me, as strange as it was, it was the opposite. I just put my hands to paper and let them draw freely. I usually didn't know what the piece would be until it was finished.

This, I knew was abnormal. Strange. Weird. But I didn't care, sometimes it was exciting not knowing until I was done.

More detail went into the clothing, the shadows. I began to realized that it couldn't be the loving embrace I had originally imagined. The man (which I can now categorize as more of a boy)'s face was tilted upwards, away from the girl's face and looking straight through the paper. The girl's body was limp in his arms, her neck tilted at a weird angle. Her dress was ripped.

My hands filled in the bodies, molding expressions and facial features into the image. Long, light hair dusting the ground, strong, pale arms supporting her. Distraught, dark bangs tangling around the eyes. Blood, bruises, dripping.

My hand stills, finished.

I swallowed thickly, resting my hand on the covers. I dropped my pencil, a chill going up my spine.

It was Oskar, dressed in a black suit with the sleeves rolled up. He was pale, too pale in the dim light of the picture to be completely alright. Blood dripped from his chin, the substance smeared all around his mouth, just like it had been earlier today after I nailed him with my elbow. His eyes glinted black from under his bangs, crazed and sadistic. Two, sharp fangs peeked from his raw and bloody lips.

I had drawn Oskar as a vampire.

I felt numb as I turned my gaze to the girl in his hands, almost certain who I would find.

Long, blonde hair spills over her shoulder and hangs behind her head, dirty and tangled. She was dressed in a long dress, folds and lace spilling from the bodice. I couldn't be sure of the color, but it was definitely light, even with the dirt covering the hem. The dress was torn and dirty, a sign that there had been struggle beforehand. Her body hung limply in Oskar's arms. She was either unconscious or dead.

I tried to keep my breathing calm as I forced myself to look at the face.

Her head was turned away, hiding her face but showing enough of a strong jawline to be recognizable. Her throat was bloody, mangled bite marks all up her neck and shoulders. She was bruised and battered, as limp as a doll.

I was almost certain it was me.

I had to look away, taking deep, even breaths.

I had to remind myself that it was just a picture, and that I shouldn't get too worked up. I'm just recovering from a traumatic event and my mind is making up weird things to deal with it. Yeah.

Careful not to look at the drawing, I flip to a clean page. This time I made sure not to draw something unnerving. I paid more attention than I usually did, and ended up with a fluffy, cotton candy-like creature. It had big eyes and cute little antennas with that poked out of it's fuzzy head. It was adorable, but not nearly was good as my other drawings. Not completely satisfied, I doodled a little rattle-like object in it's hand and slapped a big star in the middle of the sphere. Somewhat appeased, I start to close the cover, making sure to not get a glimpse of the picture on the other side.

The pages flutter closed, and I shut the book. I sit there for a few seconds, unmoving.

Suddenly I had to urge to look at Maco's picture again, so I opened the book again and started flipping. Once again I passed my previous monster mash-ups, just like before.

I stumble upon a blank page and I hesitate.

I could have sworn...

I flip the page, unsurprised when I find Marco's face staring up at me. I turn back a page, confused.

My bird should be here. I remember, I drew it right before Marco's.

Frowning, I examine the page lining, thinking maybe it was torn out. The seal was undisturbed, the page perfectly blank.

I flip through again, the bird nowhere inside my sketchbook. I shake the book, checking for loose pages. Nothing.

I stare at the blank page with my book open, perplexed.

It's almost as if the picture was erased, or as if I had never drawn it in the first place.

I rub my eyes.

It's been a long day, I'm probably just tired, I tell myself.

I set my sketch book on my bedside table and turn out the light, bathing the room in darkness.

I'll probably find it tomorrow or something, there's got to be something I'm overlooking. I pulled the covers over me and settled into my soft bed. I slowly close my heavy eyes, not giving another thought to the blank page before drifting into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

 **Now to answer some stuff. This is my favorite part btw, I love hearing from you guys. You could literally type something up about donuts and send it to me and I'd be ecstatic. A review doesn't have to be all super serious too, you could talk about what you think will happen or if your mind is reeling about something, tell me about it. Or if you want to fangirl about something or have a favorite part in a chapter I'd TOTALLY love to hear it. Anyway, here's some responses:**

 **Guest- Why thank you! And I plan on it ;)**

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 **jidg (Guest)- Plan on it ;) I'm glad you're getting drawn into it**

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